


My Bad Ending

by Instrumentalist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 00:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Instrumentalist/pseuds/Instrumentalist
Summary: In which I am put through the same type of treatment I put my characters through.





	My Bad Ending

**Author's Note:**

> I take my work very seriously.

Her first request was to alter her veto power so a 2/3rds majority could override it.

Her second request was that she be moved out of the ornate office on the third floor and put in the basement office.

It was amazing to them that someone so confident and certain was apparently also incredibly frightened of their own mind. But, she had won her seat, and they weren’t about to deny her what she had campaigned for with such success. Besides, it wasn’t really a request, no matter how much she told them and told them and _begged_ them to take it as one. She wanted her veto power reduced? It was done. She wanted a different office? It was done.

It was hard to tell what she wanted out of her work. Some days she would lock herself in her office, refusing to open the door for anybody except her superiors, putting up sticky notes on the glass reading things like “MAPS IN PROGRESS” and “WORKING ON METHODOLOGY”. She frequently admitted that the only reason she opened the door at all on those days was to keep her image clean. Otherwise, she would be content to lock herself in all day long and simply work by herself until it was time to go home. And her home was just around the block.

She was painfully aware of her public image, to the point that her staff learned to brace themselves every time she had an onset of self-doubt. She would fight herself passionately, either in her office or in the halls or in the break room or anywhere in the building, sometimes in front of other people, sometimes alone, but it was always easy to tell when she had, because her expression bled exhaustion after every duel. She constantly refused their offers to help, too concerned with overburdening them with problems she claimed weren’t theirs. After the first few years, people had learned not to offer at all.

Her output was nothing short of stellar, though. She never failed to be at every meeting at least ten minutes early, and her maps were drawn with an almost alarming attention to detail. Every district, always drawn as close to the target population as possible and as compact as possible, and drawn without any consideration to the composition of the state’s politics. If a district leaned red, it would bloody well lean red, no matter how much she wanted it to be blue. If the incumbent Representative would be ousted according to the new boundaries, then it was too bad for them, the district was not made with their re-election as the goal. If her maps were overruled by another’s, she would accept the outcome without complaint, asking only for the criticism of her own.

This strategy won her re-election, then again, and again, to the point that she began contemplating resignation in an attempt to “keep things fair,” but was dissuaded from doing so. Her staff told her she ought to be proud of how popular her work was, and how popular she was. She would only smile weakly and look away in response. She never agreed with them.

Her work did not take place in a vacuum, unfortunately for her. The very existence of her office angered the states, especially those that had previously redistricted using their own legislatures and the governor’s seal of approval. Her rebuttal, loaded with examples of blatantly gerrymandered districts drawn by politicians, worked well enough for a time, but she knew that she couldn’t keep her position forever. At some point, they would want their power back badly enough to take it back, and by then they would be willing to play unfairly.

In theory, her office was nonpartisan, separate from the executive branch and the President. Each term was five years, so her election couldn’t be considered tied to a president’s. In practice, though, it was tied to one thing: the government’s budget. Without funding, she could not do her job. It didn’t require much, especially in comparison to the titanic departments that burned through tens of billions of dollars every year, but when political power was being held, even a fraction of a percent of the budget could be excused away as ‘unnecessary spending’.

And that was exactly what happened one year.

* * *

The building had been holding their breath for a moment like this to come. She had warned them that they would try it one day, wrapped up in some fanciful, heartfelt garbage about “overreach” and “restoring power to the states,” and that one day it could work. They had tried it before, and failed, but this time was just as likely to succeed.

The name of the act didn’t matter. They had gone through so many different names in the process of trying to eliminate her office already. The text had barely changed, except to become even more aggressive and unforgiving. The deadline for dissolution shrank, from one year, to six months, to two, until they decided they could get away with barely one.

She was the first one to arrive that day, unable to sleep. The vote in the Senate was scheduled for 10 AM.

The office slowly filled up, and the hour drew closer and closer. Everybody seemed to have something to say about it. The room filled with chatter, scathing remarks, analyses that drowned out the TV turned to C-SPAN 2. Meanwhile, separate from it all, she stood in the back of the room, leaning against the wall silently, waiting with dread for the final count. The House had passed it easily, but the House passed everything easily, so it could mean nothing. She’d listened to hours of podcasts, read scores of articles tracking the likelihood of the bill’s passage for the last few weeks. The President had announced support for it since it was introduced, so if it passed today, it was all over. The pundits said it would. She hoped beyond hope it wouldn’t.

Then, the clock struck 10. The room didn’t go silent, but the hubbub simmered down quite a bit. Senators strolled into the chamber, gave the clerk a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down, and went on to do their own thing. “Do these guys even care?” one person asked.

“It’s a roll-call vote,” another answered. “They don’t have to, like, all show up at once, sit down and vote.”

“That’s how a lot of these votes go. It can take an hour or so to get a majority.”

“Then we’ll be here a while, won’t we?”

“That’s for sure.”

“What happens if it passes?”

“Then we’re out of a job. The President signs it if it does.”

“Really?!”

“Yup. It’s guaranteed. All it takes is 51 votes.”

“God…”

A few eyes glanced her way that she didn’t notice.

“How do you… how do you think she’ll take it?”

“Not good. She hasn’t said a word about it.”

“Oh boy…”

“Yeah. It’s gonna be ugly.”

“Seems like a lot of nays so far.”

“Or maybe they’re just showing up first. There could be a lot of yeas in a few.”

“I really hope they don’t pass it.”

The room quieted further. The votes were starting to stack up on both ends.

“What’re the stats?”

“They say it’s probably gonna pass.”

“By how much?”

“They’re saying anywhere from one to five votes.”

“Yikes.”

“Think she’s prepared to take it?”

“I don’t think any of us are.”

“What’ll happen to us?”

“Unemployment. Unless you can find something that pays in a month.”

“Jesus.”

“Isn’t there something in the bill about shifting us back to our states?”

“But some states will just fire us regardless. They’ll go back to the legislatures.”

They continued to watch, the minutes dragging by with agonising lethargy. The votes trickled in, large pauses between the clerks calls of each Senator’s name and vote. The early lead of nays was soon swallowed by the yeas, and the numbers ticked up, up, up, approaching the threshold of 51…

“A tie is a defeat, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Please, God, let it be a tie…”

Higher, higher, the votes reached higher and higher. Thirty-five, forty, forty-five…

“It’s coming right down to the wire on this one.”

“I can’t deal with this.”

But nobody made a move to exit. They were transfixed, unable to look away from the screen as the final votes came in.

Then, with a single Senator’s affirmative thumbs-up, it was decided.

“Oh no.”

“They passed it, they passed it.”

“Holy shit!”

“Ohhhhhhhh no!”

“Oh my god, oh my god…”

The room quickly became a swirl of activity as everyone tried to come to terms with the results. Some cried, some comforted, others went quiet, others left the room.

Nobody really noticed her retreating into the basement.

* * *

The fateful day came one month and two days later. Dissolution Day. D-Day, some people were crassly referring to it as. It didn’t matter to her what they called it. 

She was in her office. The door was locked. She sat at her desk, doing her job as if nothing special was happening. Because there was nothing special happening. Today was completely ordinary. She had arrived here promptly at 9 AM, and would stay here until 5 PM, and then she would be back tomorrow to do the same thing. Nobody else had shown up, but that was okay. They had earned a day off. She could do maps without them today. Maps only required one person.

Today’s map was Virginia. The voting districts needed to be broken down some more, they were too big for her liking. It was impractical to draw districts using blocks with more than fifty thousand people in them. She’d done it before, but it wasn’t fun.

Footsteps suddenly came from above her. She looked up briefly, then back down at her computer. Her heart was not beating a little more frantically in her chest. She was not nervous. She had five whole years before she had to be nervous.

The footsteps moved to the stairwell. Richmond looked much better now. But why did Virginia have to have all these nested counties? It wrecked her boundaries.

Down the stairs. Alexandria was next on the list, it needed some breaking up. Oh, god, yeah, look at that monstrosity! Sixty thousand people in one voting district! That was not cool!

Coming down the hall. She just needed a bit more time, she just needed a bit more, a _little bit more time—_

**Knock-knock-knock-knock.**

…Heh. Four.

She pointed to the sticky note on the door. “MAPS IN PROGRESS.”

**Knock-knock-knock-knock.**

She shook her head, pointing again at the sticky note.

The lock turned.

The door opened.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m making maps. I put up a sticky note.”

Okay, that tumor of a voting district was fixed. Good.

“You’re not allowed to be here.”

“This is my office.”

“As of today it’s no longer your office.”

“Since when?”

“I’m going to have to ask you to gather your things and leave the building as soon as possible.”

She shook her head, not looking away from the screen. “I have maps to do.”

“Those are not your concern anymore.”

“Yes they are. They’re my job.”

“Not anymore. Please, gather your things.”

“I have to finish this map.”

“If you continue to resist, I’ll have to remove you by force.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to carry me out.”

A shadow came over the screen—

“Please come with me.”

A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of her seat. “Wait!” she cried. “No, just let me finish this map!”

“Someone will bring your belongings to your car for you.”

“No!” She tried to pull away, but failed miserably. “You can’t do this! This is my job! I’m supposed to make the maps!”

“This office is closed. You no longer have a job.”

She was pulled upstairs, through the main office, through the lobby, and then outside. It was warm outside in comparison to inside. They locked the door before letting go of her. “Your belongings will be brought to your car in a few minutes.”

Then they left her, and she stood alone in front of the doors to what _was_ her office.

“You can’t do this…” she whined, tears streaming down her cheeks. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be done. This isn’t how redistricting is done!” Her hands clenched into fists. “It’s supposed to be impartial! It’s supposed to be _fair!_ _It’s not supposed to be done by people who can’t be trusted!”_ She was screaming now, screaming at the top of her lungs for nobody to hear. _“YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO DRAW THESE MAPS!! YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO DESTROY MY MAPS!! YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO DESTROY MY MAPS!! YOU’RE!! NOT!! **ALLOOOOOOOOOOWED!!!”**_

She sank to her knees, and started pounding the pavement, screaming and screaming like there was no tomorrow. Her tears fell to the ground in thick droplets, staining the concrete. Her fist was turning bright red; her hand hurt; she didn’t care. She didn’t care. She just _didn’t care._

Slowly, she wore herself out, until she was kneeling on the ground, sobbing quietly, still repeating to herself, “You’re not allowed… you’re not _fucking_ allowed!…”

She pulled herself up to her feet, wiping her face shakily, and shuffled back to her car. A box sat by the trunk, with her computer and a few other things inside it. Briefly, she considered destroying the whole thing. She so desperately wanted to break something. …But she would regret it later. So she put it in the car, and as she got into the driver’s seat, she promised herself she would go home, take out some fine china and glassware, and let herself take a baseball bat and smash them to smithereens.

They weren’t allowed. But they’d done it anyway.

Her dream was over.

**Author's Note:**

> I take my work very seriously.


End file.
